Today, as many of you sexist Americans seem to be unaware, is International Women’s Rights day. Because the UN said so. How do I know you are sexist? Because I bet most of you will go to work on Monday morning. Here in Cambodia, women’s rights are celebrated by not going to work and getting drunk. Unless of course you are a market seller, or a housewife. Then you still have to work just like any other day. What do housewives and market sellers have in common? They are women. You only get to take the day off if you work for a bank, a phone company, or a school. Basically, if you are man, you celebrate women’s rights day by doing nothing. And if you are a woman, well, you get to celebrate your rights to cook and clean and do laundry and pick up after your drunk male relatives. And all you American men are probably at work and sober at 9:00am on a Monday. Clearly you have no understanding of how to properly celebrate women’s rights day. Being the liberated woman that I am, I celebrate women’s rights day by typing this blog for you all, beloved readers. And I may do some laundry later.

Seriously speaking I have already attended two women’s rights day events. My students and I were invited to speak about our leadership workshops to people in remote villages. It was the first time such a celebration had taken place in either village. It very humbling, as much as I like to think I’m hardcore, I’m really not. My house has running water and electricity most of the time. I live across the street from the market, so I can easily get most anything I need. There is decent cell phone service and periodic internet access. The villages we went to were not so fortunate. The first one took an hour and a half to reach. We had to travel a road that was nothing but sand, over a mountain, and cross a river. In the rainy season it is nearly impossible to get there. Because of the transportation difficulties, the people can neither sell their goods outside the villages, or buy goods from outside. Most of the villagers who attended walked several miles because they can’t even afford bicycles. There is no school, so nearly the entire population is illiterate. I was glad my students were able to see it as well. Living in the market town, we may not have very much, but it’s a lot more than nothing, which is what these people have. Like all Cambodian “celebrations” a few important people sat at a table facing the audience and made long, boring speeches. They asked questions to the audience, and anyone who answered received a prize of soap or toothpaste/toothbrush. I’m not going to tell you that the audience cared about women’s rights. Most of them didn’t. They came for the free stuff. And I was a little disturbed by the way the NGO staff herded the people like cattle, gave them the stuff, and then yelled at them to get out of the way. Had I gone just for that, I would have been disappointed, if not a little sickened. But the truth is no one would have come just to hear about women’s rights. And maybe they didn’t pay much attention, but they did here ideas that they had never heard before, so I hope some kind of seed was planted. But what made it worth it for me was my students. The NGO staff was disappointed that the girls and I didn’t speak longer. But people tuned out the long speeches. They paid attention to us. Granted I am rather attention grabbing. But the girls talked about what they did and what they learned, and everyone really seemed to pay attention. The girls were nervous but they all spoke really well. I have never been so proud of them. Because we didn’t speak very long, the girls and I had a lot of downtime. We played sudoku, chided the monks for smoking, they asked the English word for “breasts” and we sized up the men. They thought the driver was very polite and handsome, but he was rather old. The other NGO worker was younger, but his cheeks were too puffy and he looked like he would be rude. Portraits from the two days of celebrating women’s rights: A little girl using a (needle-less) syringe as a pacifier. A crying baby placed in a cardboard box, he then becomes very excited and tries to eat the box. 9 Cambodians all speaking at the same time about the relative ripeness of mangoes and bananas. The deputy director of women’s affairs stopping the car to get out and collect leaves for soup, while still wearing her celebration finery.

This past weekend was rather busy. I went with my host sister and some of her friends to take a scholarship exam in the provincial town. The next day there was a soccer game, we lost 4-1 but I got an excellent tan, much to the distress of the Cambodians. I get home from the soccer game and my host mom tells me that I need to go to Phnom Penh with her and translate for some Indian guy who wants to buy wood from her. Well the Indian guy turns out to be Pakistani, who doesn’t speak English well. It was awful. We picked him up at his hotel, went to one house to get wood, and then went to another house to look at the wood, which he didn’t like. So went back to the first house (the trip to the second house was a complete waste of time) except on the way back to the first house we got lost. I couldn’t even imagine what this guy was thinking. If I were him I would have just gotten out of the car because clearly these people have no idea what they’re doing. I was quite visibly angry. And then when I tried to explain something to my host mom she told me to shut up. I was livid. And then the man wanted to start bargaining, except he had misunderstood when I told him that the wood was five hundred dollars a kilo and thought it was five thousand. So that took time to explain. It all worked out in the end and I calmed down after I ate a muffin. But he shows up at my house unannounced today wanting more wood. He shows up right as I’m getting out the shower to get ready to go to a meeting. So the grandma (the new one, who is not the brightest crayon in the box, not the old one) is telling me to come downstairs immediately, seemingly not aware of the fact that I am naked. I tell her I should put clothes on first, and she’s like, oh that’s a good idea. Anyway, he seems rather upset that I’m busy, but I’m rather upset that he just showed up without telling anyone, so we’re even. So I go to my meeting with an NGO director. Who is a no-show (probably too busy celebrating women’s rights). It was a rather infuriating morning. I think what made it even worse was the irony that had I been a man, most likely neither my Pakistani friend nor the NGO director would have treated me like that. Happy women’s rights day to me. I really need a muffin.

Small joys: I had two cups of coffee this morning. My spoiled little host sister yelled at me to get out of the shower (which while rude to us, is even more rude for a Cambodian as I am old enough to be her mother) so I took my time. Finding that my grandma is doing laundry so I have to wait til later to do my own laundry. Darn. The props accorded me by the construction workers next door as they watched me jump a fence since the gate was locked. A fan. Bathing up to 8 times a day. Discounts. Sugarcane juice. A soft pillow. Being the only foreigner for miles. Wearing my tried and true (which the unimaginative might call old and worn) flips flops everywhere to the embarrassment of my host family. Coconuts. Assorted vegetables. Cute dogs. Sudoku. Fried bananas. Pajamas. Silence.

One of the things on this list is being the only foreigner. Most people don’t understand how I can enjoy this. To them I ask, how could I not? I can do whatever I want. Clearly I am the most beautiful, and I speak the best Khmer, simply by virtue of being the only one. I would hate to have to compete with someone for those titles. I am the ultimate authority on western culture. Why are you wearing those old shoes? Well because in America everyone wears old shoes. It is also a fantastic excuse for when I don’t want to do something: Well in America women beat up men when the men get drunk, so it’s probably best if I don’t attend your drinking party, but thank you anyway. I am the undisputed princess. I have but to make a suggestion and it is obeyed. Wouldn’t it be excellent if that trash were burnt? Yes ma’am. And in a few minutes the trash will be burnt. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if there were some sugarcane juice? It certainly would, coming right up. I think I need 3 boxes of thumbtacks, 20 bottles of bleach, and nail clippers. Why of course you do, one moment. I have a mystique. I see this as the payment for people staring at me and being rude. While many things, like calling people fat, aren’t as rude to Cambodians as to Americans, they do sometimes forget that foreigners are people too, not just circus attractions provided for their amusement. I’ve also noticed that some people seem view it as a way of getting even with me for being from a rich country.

I should say that I really do love Cambodia and Cambodians. But like all relationships that are truly loving, you have to be able to see the faults of the ones you love. After all, if a person were faultless, then they everyone would love them and it wouldn’t really mean much. Cambodia clearly has its faults. However, I myself have many faults and Cambodians seem to love me in spite of them. While hearing about how fat I am, how rich I am, and how I would be thinner and find a husband easier if I didn’t eat so much, are all extremely annoying, they really aren’t the point. Some people are just jerks. But I’ve discovered most of the Khmer people whom I dislike, are also disliked by the population in general. All of the my friends have at some point told me I’d be prettier if I weren’t so fat. But because I know that they are good-hearted people who are trying to give me useful advice I can deal with it.

I’m off to continue celebrating women’s rights with noodles and a nap, love and miss you all. Come see me in Tulsa if you get a chance!